Not Trash
by staceycj
Summary: Spoilers for 10X09: Current events remind Sam of the past and what it will take to help his brother.


I stood in the open doorway to Dean's bedroom, I stood and watched my brother, pale, wan, drawn, stubble stark against his pale skin, fitfully sleep on top of the covers. Dean only slept on top of the covers, with his clothes on, with his boots on, when he was upset, scared…no not scared…terrified, of something that he couldn't control, fix, or something that continually plagued his sleep. The last time he slept with his clothes on and was this pale was after he got back from hell, after he had tortured all of those souls in hell, and now, here he was again, sleeping with this clothes on, but this time it was because he had slaughtered humans, humans that he had vowed to protect against everything bad in the world. That wounded my brother, wounded him to a core level. He was angry with himself and I think a little scared of himself now as well. Dean scared of anything frightened me, because Dean was never scared.

When we were little Dean was always the strong one, always the one with the fix, the solution to the low food situation, to the no winter coat situation, to the Dad situation. And when we got back out on the road he was still the one with the solutions with the fixes, fixes that sometimes resulted in pain, his pain, but didn't generally hurt too many other people. Now, here I am, standing in my brother's doorway wishing that I had a fix. Wishing that I knew what to do for him, wishing that I wasn't scared of this new horrific problem that was festering, because as far as I can tell, Dean had never been scared of anything that was festering inside of me, even when I drank demon blood, he wasn't scared, he was worried, but he knew that we could fix it. No fear. Just solutions. I wish I had that confidence, I wish I was smart like that.

Dean mentioned, to himself really, he was in his room, I was sitting outside, his door was closed, but I've learned how to listen with my ear sort of pressed to the crack between the door jam and the door, (I, since this latest disaster, have spent quite a bit of time listening to him through the door. He talks to pictures, pictures of those he has loved and lost. I've wondered if that is his way of praying.) I've learned through this spying that he was not only ashamed of what he had done, greatly ashamed, but he was embarrassed. Embarrassed that he had fallen so far from grace, embarrassed that he had allowed his soul to become this black withered thing, he was embarrassed that he had truly become trash. Those were his words not mine.

However, after he said that, all I could hear in my head was the ringing of a similar statement said about my brother, said about him, to ME, and I didn't defend, just like I wasn't doing now. I should be in there telling him that he isn't trash, that we can fix this, but I'm not sure how, not sure it wouldn't sound hollow to his ears, or even mine. I have never done right by my brother, I wish I knew how.

It is just like it was way back then…

_It was the day of freshman orientation for Stanford. I had told Dean that I had gotten in, full ride, and he was so proud of me. He took me out to get food, the food I liked, not the food that he liked, and we ate and talked about what I would do at Stanford, the girls I would meet there, and the stuff I would study. He was so proud that he even told the waitress that I had gotten in. I remembered being a little embarrassed, I remember my cheeks burning, but I didn't care, I even let him call me Sammy without complaint. It was just so awesome to have my big brother so freaking proud of me._

_We agreed that we would tell dad together about my leaving, Dean needed some time to figure out how to tell him, how to convince him that I would be safe there, to get some hunter contacts in California to be on the lookout for me and for supernatural baddies. So that meant I didn't have a parent to go with me to orientation, Dean just smiled and said, "I'll go." He was so happy and so proud that I couldn't say no, and to be honest, I didn't want to say no. _

_The morning we were to leave for the orientation, I found a stack of clothes in the bathroom waiting for me, they were name brand, and the jeans were fashionable, and the shoes were Pumas, expensive Pumas, they were the clothes that I'd longed for my entire life. They were NORMAL clothes, they were expensive clothes. And I remembered swallowing hard, realizing that my brother couldn't afford these things, and I stormed out of the bathroom, in nothing but a bath towel, and found him in the kitchen reading the newspaper, completely dressed, waiting for me._

"_Where did you get these?" I demanded holding up the Aeropostal shirt. I didn't give him time to respond, I simply accused, "You stole them, didn't you?!"_

_Dean's eyes were wounded, but his face became hard and he angled his chin up. "I bought them." He said coolly._

"_You can't afford this. We can't afford to stay anywhere that doesn't rent by the hour to hookers! Who did you take this from?" I demanded again. _

"_I found them all at the Goodwill in town. I paid for everything. You want to see the receipt?" He began to fish through his pockets, and he held the receipt out to me. I took it dumbly and found that he had, in fact, bought everything that had been sitting on the bathroom sink. "Go, go get dressed. You have places to be, people to meet." He said without a hint of anger, now thinking about it, Dean should have been furious at my accusations, furious at my lack of faith in him, but that seemed to be what he expected, still expected. _And as he lie in his bed, suffering through nightmares that had an all too real base in reality, I stand outside not able to give him anything, do anything—and that was what he expected, had always expected, will always expect.

_I dressed in the clothes that he had purchased for me, and I looked like Joe College. I looked just like all of the other kids that were at the orientation. They separated the families from the students and we went on different orientations. While on my tour of the grand buildings and the beautiful grounds I befriended guy who was also pre-law, he came from a wealthy family, and his dad had bought his way into Stanford, because "let's face it" he said, "who has time to study when there are so many more interesting things to be doing, and girls to be doing," I pretended to agree, I wanted so much to fit in with these people, that I think I would have agreed with just about anything any of them said. I was so naive and stupid._

_The families and students met back for lunch, and me and the guy, Eric, entered the banquet hall, and Dean was already there, plate heaped to the hilt with food. I remember being so embarrassed that he had done that, and then I heard Eric say next to me, "God they will let any kind of trash in here won't they?" Confused I asked him to clarify who he was speaking of, and he nodded towards my brother. "That guy, the one with the leather jacket that is way too big, like he got it off the street, like he's homeless or something. I hope they checked his ID before they let him in here. Who do you think brought THAT guy?" And I turned and looked at my brother, and that was the first time I looked at my brother without my hero worship glasses on, and I saw what he looked like to Eric. He was wearing Dad's leather jacket that was at least three sizes too big for him, his jeans were worn, and the knees were gone and there was fray at the bottom of them framing his worn work boots, that the sole was beginning to wear through, and when he turned and I saw the washed out black tee shirt, and the button down that I knew was missing two buttons, and even the amulet I had given him looked garish and stupid. He did look homeless, he did look like trash next to all of these men wearing polo shirts and khakis, hair strategically sprinkled with gray, rings and bracelets made of gold and platinum, and loafers made of the richest leather known to the world, and their plates were far less filled with food-my brother looked like trash, he looked homeless, he looked unworthy, standing next to all of these people. And I was embarrassed and ashamed of my brother. _

_And before I could stop I said, "Yeah, they will let trash in here won't they?" I disrespected my brother, started a line of disrespect and he had heard my words and it was the moment that Dean knew that he couldn't expect anything from me. He couldn't expect me to defend him against spoiled rich arrogant kids, expect me to support him, or even expect me to accept him. _

That day started a history of injuries for my brother, and I have caused a great many of them. I picked the fight with dad about Stanford, without Dean, before Dean could get his grand plan together to make dad accept it, I knew that Dad would be pissed, and I wanted him to be pissed, I wanted him to kick me out, because it would give me a reason to tuck tail and not admit to Dean that I had been wrong that day at orientation.

But here I sit 15 years later watching my brother fitfully sleep. Taking the Mark of Cain was his decision, but he doesn't' have to deal with it all by himself. That's why I'm here. My brother is not trash, my brother is not worthless, and his soul is not so black that it can't be saved. He cares too much, he cares too much about others, he cares too much about me, what he needs to care about is himself. That might just be part of the key to breaking this Mark of Cain.

"Sammy?" Dean asked sleepily as he sat up rubbing the sleep from his eye.

"Hey, you're awake."

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long."

"I'm not going to get up and start killing people. I swear. I'll lock myself up first, I'll cut off my hands-" I put a hand up stopping his promises.

"I know Dean. I was just making sure YOU were okay. I trust you."

"How?"

"You're an honorable man." Dean scoffed.

"Yeah, right, whatever. I lost that distinction that night. You saw what I did. I saw the horror in your eyes."

"I wasn't horrified because you killed them. They were horrible people."

"Doesn't mean that they deserved it."

"Right there is what I was horrified and scared about." Dean's eyes squinted at me. So I went on and clarified, "You are taking this hard…"

"Damn right I'm taking this hard! I took human lives, I'm not a demon…"

"I know that too. I see you slip holy water into your coffee each morning to check." Dean turned his eyes away from me, and I walked over to him and pulled his face in between my hands and forced him to stare at me. "You are a good man Dean Winchester! Only a good man would be horrified by what you had done. Your soul is not tainted to the point of no return, you are not worthless, you are not trash Dean Winchester. You are my brother, you are the protector of lives, God saved you from hell. You are special. You are not something to throw away, just because you have made a bad decision."

"You make it sound like I made a bad choice of cereal."

"No. You made a bad choice. You've been trying to deal with it alone. You can't do that. I'm here. I'm here Dean. I'm proud of us too." Dean's eyes stayed steady on mine. I hope, for once, my words have gotten through to him.

"Will you let go of my face now?" he asked. I broke into a smile. That was my brother. he was hiding what the words meant to him, hiding his feelings, but for a brief second he had let me in. That was the first step into forging a new path for the two of us. It is my turn to take care of him, to help him, to support him, to show him the right path. It's time to show my brother that he is not trash, it is time to give him a different kind of expectation.


End file.
